Every year on the Fourth of July, I took a six-pack to the main dock and watched the fireworks light up the sky behind the mountaintops. So with a small cooler of beer, that was exactly where I headed.
I didn’t visit the dock only on the Fourth; it was the perfect place for a bit of quiet contemplation. The lapping water along the embankment had a way of drowning out everything else and resetting my soul. It centered and soothed me, as though the lake summoned my spirit. It was the perfect place to be alone and grow lost in the whispers of nature.
The dock wasn’t far or difficult to get to, just behind the main office, tucked into the foot of the mountain. I could’ve walked if I’d wanted to, but taking the golf cart was easier and quicker. Honestly, it had become my primary mode of transportation, regardless of where I was headed. Most people opted to get around the resort on foot. I couldn’t blame them, considering how beautiful and peaceful the grounds were, but after living here my entire life—as well as working here every day for the last six years—I’d concluded that walking was overrated.
As I drove down the dirt path that led to the lake, I couldn’t help but feel the loneliness consume me. It didn’t matter how hard I fought the oppressive cloud that cloaked me in pathetic misery, it wouldn’t go away. The most ridiculous part of it all was that I didn’t have to be alone. I could’ve spent the evening celebrating Independence Day along with everyone else at Black Bird’s restaurant or bar. Instead, I’d opted to be by myself—just like every other year.
The dock, where we kept the tour boats, was private and isolated in a quiet alcove, mostly hidden by trees. It was the perfect place to sit and have a few drinks while the town set off fireworks across the lake. There was nothing like watching the explosions of color over the green landscape, reflecting off the calm waters that seemed to stretch out forever. It truly was serene and something I enjoyed, but even that couldn’t crack the funk I’d fallen into.
The sun, so close to setting, left the sky resembling a canvas painted with varying strokes of oranges and pinks. There wasn’t a single cloud between the peaks of the mountains surrounding the reservoir, which looked more like glass than water—a true masterpiece.
I parked the cart next to the clearing just off the trail and made my way down the wooden slats in the packed earth toward the floating dock. Just before the covered boathouse was a “no trespassing” sign tacked to a slanted post. For whatever reason, I couldn’t pass it without knocking on it the way you would before walking into a room. It’d been a tradition—or superstition—of mine for as long as I could remember. So I lightly tapped the metal sign with a single knuckle and headed toward the end of the platform.
However, the sight of long blond hair slowed my steps and stole my attention. A woman—goddess, angel, whoever she was—sat at the end with her shoulder against the railing, one leg dangling off the side, her head tilted with her attention focused on something across the lake.
I hadn’t expected to see anyone down here, and it made me wonder if knocking on that sign all these years had finally paid off. Like I had somehow summoned her. I didn’t know every guest who’d checked in, but I was pretty sure I would’ve remembered this one, which made me wonder what she was doing here.
I prayed she was a local who’d wandered over to watch the show.
Not wanting to alarm her, I made my way to the end of the dock as quietly as I could. Confusion plagued me, though I wasn’t sure why; it made my heart beat faster and more profoundly. Maybe it was anxiety. Whatever it was, I’d never felt it before. My face heated, and my head felt as though it were expanding like a balloon. And without consciously taking a single step, I drew closer to her, akin to someone pulling a string.
She glanced up, bright eyes wide, mouth agape, a song of surprise hitching in her throat. It was enough to make me pause. I stopped mid-step and frantically pondered what my next move should be. Never in my life had I been frozen in place by a look, by a set of piercing eyes. I’d never questioned my next move based solely on a gasp.
Until now.
Until her.
My heartbeat spiked and then threatened to give out altogether. My dad always said I hid surprise well, but for the first time in my life, I doubted that theory, because I would bet that anyone watching this had to have noticed my stunned reaction. The only thing I could do was keep going and pray that I could pull this off without coming across as a psychopath.
I slowly finished making my way to her, never taking my eyes off the glowing angel that sat in front of me. She remained so still, reminding me of a porcelain statue. The first thing I noticed about her was her crystalline blue eyes, like pools of shallow water that begged for me to swim in. Her straight blond hair hung on either side of her face like a veil meant to conceal her beauty—but instead, the thick, light-colored locks enhanced it. I continued to let my gaze tour her features, memorizing them as if I were a blind man finally capable of seeing for the first time. Her slightly parted lips—either in awe or surprise—were full and perfect, a deep V decorating the top. She had a faint dimple in her chin, virtually unnoticeable, yet I found it to be glaringly obvious.
That one tiny dimple was familiar, as if I knew it’d be there.
Memorable, as if I’d somehow seen it before.
“Can I help you?” I asked, hoping my deep voice didn’t sound as menacing to her as it did to my own ears. At times, when I least expected it, that gravelly additive to my tone would make me sound more like a grizzly bear than a twenty-one-year-old guy.
Initially, I couldn’t gauge her reaction, because rather than answer me, she opened and closed her mouth a few times, blinking as if trying to clear her vision. Then, with a sudden shake of her head, she whispered, “Oh.”
That one sound was enough to hook me.
A scarf of deep embarrassment wrapped around her neck and covered her face. She slid her bare foot along the wooden slats beneath her as she prepared to stand. “I’m so sorry.”
I quickly set the cooler down—no longer caring about the cold beers I’d craved not ten minutes earlier—and crouched in front of her. It was the only thing I could think of to keep her from getting up and leaving. “What are you sorry for?”
Without breaking my stare, she pointed toward the boathouse. “The sign says no trespassing.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from taking over. It seemed it had been the sign after all.
She placed her palms flat on the wooden decking and pushed up in an even bigger—and more obvious—attempt to stand. The thought of her leaving sent a wave of panic through me, and without a single thought, I held her knee. She stilled, her body stiffening beneath my touch. And suddenly, I began to panic for a whole new reason. I didn’t want her to go, but I also didn’t want to frighten her.
In the softest voice I could muster, I said, “You don’t have to leave.”
Fear morphed into confusion when her wide eyes narrowed and the lines in her forehead deepened. Yet she remained mute—eyes lingering on my face, waiting for me to say something else.
“I mean, you’re here, so stay and watch the fireworks. That’s why you came, right?”
“Yeah,” she answered in a soft, timid voice that ran through me like a slow breeze on a cold day. Then she slowly readjusted her position until she once again sat with her back pressed against the railing, one leg dangling off the side.